Traitor!
by Kevyn
Summary: Draco Malfoy is Head Boy and would be top of his 7th year if not for the mudblood witch Hermione. He has been declared a traitor by the Dark Lord Voldemort due to his betrayal at Arthur Weasley's murder. Now Lucius is slowly dying for his son's sin.
1. Spiritus Furtum

Disclaimer: The characters and universe contained within this story are the creations of J. K. Rowling. The story idea is mine.

* * *

**Chapter One: _Spiritus Furtum_**  
  
Draco stormed out of the Great Hall and was on his way to the dungeons when a light female voice called after him. He grimaced. Hermione was always trying to "connect" with him, ever since he'd become Head Boy and she'd been named Head Girl. She was such a goody-goody.

"What?" he asked, exasperated.

"What's wrong, Draco? Where are you going?" she asked, her eyes soft with unsought concern. Ron Weasely followed her out of the Great Hall.

"What's up Hermione?" He saw Draco and his eyes narrowed. "Why do you bother with this scum?"

"Oh Ron, you have to get over your prejudice," she said wearily, sounding like someone who has tried—fruitlessly—to explain the same truth many times over.

"Why should I?" he demanded. "In case you forgot, his father killed my dad."

"Then you should be happy to know that my father's dying," Draco snapped at him.

"He brought it upon himself," Ron retorted. "He was just another one of Voldemort's minions. I hope Voldemort struck him down himself."

"The actions of the Dark Lord are beyond your comprehension, Weasely." Draco turned to Hermione. "My mother says he will die soon and he wants to see me one last time. Even the Ministry of Magic couldn't deny that. They know his death is inevitable."

Hermione looked sharply at him. "Aren't you worried your father will do something... Death Eaterish?"

"No," Draco responded flatly. "I made it clear to him I will not be following in his footsteps. Besides, he's being held in the Ministry Headquarters and there are Aurors guarding him. What can he do?"

"Well, be careful anyhow," Hermione said. "I'll keep track of your work for you."

Draco nodded his thanks and went off to his dormitory to pack his belongings. As he left, he heard Ron arguing with Hermione.

* * *

Draco's first class was Advanced Potions, but he skipped it and went to see Professor Dumbledore instead. He thought Professor Snape would understand, but in any case, he wouldn't take points from his own House. 

"So what is it you wanted to talk with me about, Master Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked, peering at Draco with those unnerving blue eyes.

"My mother sent me an owl this morning," he said, looking at the ground. "The Aurors have captured my father. Mother says he is going to die and there's nothing anyone can do to prevent it. He wants to see me, sir."

"Well, you're doing exceptionally well this year. Your grades begin to rival those of Miss Granger. Your professors tell me you have been working hard, and doing this with the responsibilities of Head Boy. I see no reason I could prevent you from visiting your father on his deathbed;" he leaned forward and spoke softly, "however, I would warn you to beware. He is a serpent, Draco, and he may have a bit of poison left to him yet."

* * *

Draco met his mother at Platform 9 ¾. She looked like she had aged twenty years since he'd last seen her. 

"It was the Dark Lord," she said hoarsely as soon as they were alone. "He wanted him to kill you if you refused to be a Death Eater, if you refused to kill the young Potter boy and his friends."

"What did he do?" Draco asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. "What did he do to Father?"

"Oh, Draco," his mother hugged him tightly to her. Her eyes misted over as she remembered. "I went with Lucius that night when the Mark burned black on his arm. He was afraid of the Dark Lord's wrath and feared for my safety, but I refused to let him go without me."

"He knew, of course. He knew Lucius had disobeyed Him. He tortured him first." She shuddered with the remembrance of it. "_Crucatius_, for so long Lucius begged to die. Then, He turned to me. He knew who I was. He said it was good I was there for He could use me to torture Lucius further. He said 'This is what happens to those who disobey me,' and He-" Her voice caught in her throat. Draco gripped her firmly.

"What did he do to you?" he asked, his lips tight.

"_Crucatius_," she said. "He made Lucius watch as he tortured me. Lucius begged Him to leave me alone, saying he was the one who had disobeyed Him and that the Dark Lord should punish him alone. He said He would leave me be if Lucius would do one thing for Him. Lucius agreed. The Dark Lord gave him a vial of potion and told him to drink it."

"What potion?" Draco demanded.

"I don't know," she replied, "but Lucius did. His face turned pale and the other Death Eaters laughed horribly as the Dark Lord smiled and ordered him to drink it. Lucius said, 'As my lord commands' and drank. He began to shake violently. The Dark Lord grabbed my arm and threw me at him. 'Get them out of my sight,' he snapped, and two Death Eaters held us and dissapearated. As soon as we apparated, they disappeared again. The Aurors found us shortly thereafter. They took Lucius to the Ministry, but he was too weak to tell them anything. The doctors from St. Mungo's say they've never seen the like. He's been loosing strength by the minute. He wanted to see you."

* * *

They were escorted into the bowels of the Ministry of Magic and Draco was let into a heavily guarded room. His father was lying on a bed in the corner. He was a sickly white color and his hair was limp and falling out. 

"Father!" Draco cried. "What did he do to you?"

"The potion, Draco," he said weakly. "It's what He's using for all who betray him now. I was the first."

"But what is it?"

"_Spiritus Furtum_," he replied, "Theft of Life. He invented it Himself...with my help. I don't know all of the ingredients, but it requires the blood of the one who is to gain life from it. Blood potions are very powerful." He coughed violently. "There is no antidote."

Draco's face hardened. "You deserve to die, Father. I've said it before and I still believe it, but I'll kill him for touching Mother."

Lucius' dying eyes surveyed his son calculatingly. "Your mother will be heartbroken when I die."

"She'll get over it," Draco replied coldly. "Besides, you said it yourself- there's no antidote."

"No antidote, truly, but the Dark Lord's will decides how fast I die. His blood inside me saps my strength as He wishes. Perhaps..." his voice trailed off.

"Perhaps what?"

"Perhaps," Lucius said, "He could be persuaded to spare me. _You_ know what I mean."

Draco gripped the foot of the bed so hard his knuckles turned white.

"I will never serve Voldemort," he hissed.

"Then you are a fool," Lucius replied calmly.

* * *

Upon Draco's return to Hogwarts, he decided to stay in the Head Boy's rooms. Before, he had preferred the companionship of his fellow Slytherins, but now he wanted solitude. Besides, many of the Slytherin seventh-years served the Dark Lord, even if they were not yet officially Death Eaters. He'd had quite enough of Voldemort and his miions for the time being. 

He had forgotten the Head Girl's rooms were next to his own. The door was slightly ajar and flickering firelight and companionable laughter spilled out into the dark corridor. There was the sound of a heavy book closing.

"Well, that's the last of my Arithmancy," Hermione said happily. "Now to draw up a work schedule for Draco. Harry, what did Professor Snape assign for Advanced Potions?"

Neither Ron nor Hermione was taking Potions that year. Ron had opted out as soon as he could and Hermione had dropped it after passing her NEWTS.

"Three feet on the history and uses of vampire saliva for Monday, besides a detailed essay on blood potions due by next Friday."

"Seriously!" exclaimed Ron. "That's tough. You should've dropped it like me, eh?"

"It's a requirement for Aurors," Harry replied.

"Say, why're you helping Malfoy anyhow?" Ron demanded.

"Draco's a good person, Ron, and he's a talented wizard. He's also very, very alone and you're not helping any!"

"I just hope he doesn't become one of your pet projects like spew," Ron muttered.

"It's S.P.E.W. Ron! And no, Draco's not a "pet project". He's a human being and I'm treating him as such. Is that too much to ask of you?"

Draco slipped quietly into his rooms and pulled the door softly shut behind him.


	2. The Dream

**Chapter Two: The Dream**

Draco's dream that night was the same dream that had haunted him off and on for almost three months. Last year had been horrible for him—torturous, in fact. The heir of Lucius Malfoy, loyal servant of the Dark Lord, had grown a conscience. He'd cursed Potter when he'd gotten his father thrown into Azkaban, but the absence of his father's controlling hand in his life—and the absence of any Death Eater, due to the mass jailings—gave him space to think.

He was back at Hogwarts before his father broke out of Azkaban, and by that time, Draco had no wish to see the man. He still acted the same as he always had, fearing that any of his fellow Syltherins would be more than willing to alert the Dark Lord to any unfavorable action of Draco's, but he had been secretly happy that mail was monitored and there was no way for Lucius Malfoy to contact his son.

The dream was of a hidden grove deep in the enchanted forest. Voldemort's agent, disguised as a Gryffindor girl, had lured Potter and his friends to the secret place. Potter had still been full of fury about the demise of his godfather, Sirus Black, and wouldn't heed his friend's warnings about the girl. He blindly followed her into the Dark Lord's trap.

Draco had run into Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and that loony Ravenclaw girl Luna, when the friends, realizing Harry had gone with the girl, panicked and rushed after him. They thought Draco was working for the Dark Lord, so they swamped him, placing a full-body bind on him and leaving him in the Main Hall, propped against a wall.

In the dream, Draco always pleaded with them to believe him, to let him help them, but they never believed him—just as they'd done in real life. Blaise Zabini, a fellow Slytherin, quickly found him and performed the counter-charm.

"Hurry up," the boy said, his eyes glittering with animalistic excitement. "We'll miss all the fun."

Draco followed Blaise through the network of secret tunnels under the Enchanted Forest into the grove. The black trees cast long shadows on the ground, the snake-and-skull marked lanterns casting eerie green light upon the faces of the captives. They all looked shocked and it seemed as though the Weasleys had been crying. A circle of men and women in hooded black robes stood around them.

A tall, hooded man standing in the middle of the circle with his master, turned to see who the intruders were. Moonlight glinted off the silver dagger he held in his hand. It dripped blood.

The circle opened to let the two boys in, revealing the dead, bleeding body of Arthur Weasley, lying at the feet of the man with the knife—Lucius Malfoy. Draco almost cringed away from his father and the Dark Lord, and then he remembered that weakness was a fault punishable among the Death Eaters.

He stepped forward with Blaise to join the circle. Draco could see Harry, tied by himself to a post, obviously beaten by the bruise on his face, glaring at the Dark Lord with hate-powered fury.

The Dark Lord gloated for a while—this was the part that was always hazy in Draco's dream and seemed to progress at a strangely fast pace. It seemed like no time before the Dark Lord turned to Draco and said,

"Young Malfoy, son of my servant…it has been brought to my attention that you are of an age to enter my service…" his hissing voice was soft. Draco knew exactly who had brought his age to the Dark Lord's attention. His father. "You must prove your loyalty…I have chosen to honor you with the privilege of killing the friends of young Harry Potter as he watches…then Harry Potter himself…"

Draco took a few unwilling steps toward the Dark Lord and Lucius Malfoy. His father handed him the silver dagger, which Draco could now see was inscribed with spells of pain and torture. His stomach clenched to think of the pain Arthur Weasley must have gone through before he died. At least _Avada Kedavra_ was quick.

Draco moved toward the two posts where the captives were bound. How can I do this, he wondered, marveling that he was able to keep fear from racking his body and shaking his limbs. I can't kill them…they're just kids…just kids…like me.

He took a few purposeful steps toward the posts, where Harry hissed threateningly," If you touch them, Malfoy, you'll have a lot more to fear than that excuse for a man you call Master."

Draco believed him, but he didn't let it show. He stepped closer to the captives, raised the dagger, and cut the ropes tying them to the posts. He whipped around and pointed his wand at the Death Eater who was holding the captives' wands and bellowed, "_Accio_, wands!"

The wands came flying at him, and he quickly passed them to their owners, cutting Harry's bonds and handing him his wand in the same motion.

"KILL THEM!" the Dark Lord shrieked, as everything erupted into chaos.

The students fought fiercely against the Death Eaters and broke through the circle into the woods, where they mounted waiting Gryffins and flew off, deflecting spells as they disappeared into the night sky. Draco looked down one last time to see the fiery eyes of the Dark Lord fixed on him, his mouth forming the word, "Traitor."

* * *

Draco woke up in a cold sweat. It was a Saturday. He was at Howgarts. He breathed heavily for a few minutes.

I'm not a traitor, he thought fiercely. He had never sworn loyalty to Voldemort, and he never would. He washed his face, combed his hair, and changed into his school robes. He was glad he was Head Boy this year.

He dashed off a note to the House Elf who cleaned his rooms to have his things permanently brought to the Head Boy's rooms. This was the first time he'd had that dream since he'd returned to Howarts for his seventh year. He was haunted by the Dark Lord's accusation. It would make him feel better if he didn't sleep in the same room as prospective Death Eaters, for the time being. He just wished that the people he wanted to help would accept him.

* * *

Draco returned to his rooms later that morning, after breakfast and a walk down to the lake to have some time to think. He didn't know what to make of what his father had told him, and he certainly didn't know what to think of the _spiritus furtum_ potion that was what Lucius claimed was allowing the Dark Lord to kill him.

He wasn't sure he believed that his father would refuse to kill him, especially if the Dark Lord ordered him to do so. Then again, Draco was his only heir, so perhaps he thought he would come around.

The whole thing presented a rather three-dimensional puzzle. Draco Malfoy did not like puzzles. He liked things that could be explained, analyzed, broken down, or put together. He liked potions and spells—they were reliable. One knew what to expect. Emotions, motives, loyalty—that presented an element of unpredictability that unnerved the new Head Boy.

He was almost relieved to come into his rooms to find that Hermione had left the list of his assignments on his desk, along with a note in her neat handwriting that read, "I'm here if you need support. –H. Granger"

Draco scanned the list of homework. His eyes fell on the assignment for Advanced Potions. Vampire saliva and blood potions. Draco's analytical mind cranked into gear as he pushed what he thought of as his "Death Eater Problems" to the back of his mind and began to think about his homework. He gathered his books and went off to the library, to research vampire saliva and blood potions.

_Vampire saliva also has the unusual ability to keep the blood of the victim from clotting, to ensure the continuous flow of blood into the vampire's body. It is unknown as to why this happens. _

_Muggle scientists, studying the vampire bat, of course, as Muggles don't scientifically believe in vampires, believe there is some kind of enzyme or some such thing that prevents the clotting of the blood. __Their doctors think they might be able to use it in the Muggle healing where they cut the body open, crudely fix the problem, and then stitch the body closed. _

_Wizards who specialize in the study of vampires note that when the vampire's teeth retract from the neck of its victim and back into its mouth, the small amount of saliva left on the victim's neck performs the opposite function, quickening the natural healing process and leaving almost undetectable scars. _

_Vampire saliva is rare and expensive, due to the risks involved in obtaining it, but is highly useful in making blood potions. Its property of preventing blood clotting allows a very small part of the donor's body to be cutto get a large quantity of blood without loosing a body part or walking away with blatant scarring. _

_Often, the donor is unaware that blood is being taken from his body, which is why the Ministry of Magic keeps a strict supervision on who is allowed to have it, and this is also why the punishment for black market dealers caught with vampire saliva is so severe._

Draco finished his paragraph and lifted his quill to refill it. A boy slid into the chair next to him. This was a strange occurrence. This year, Draco had spent all of his time in the library with a table to himself, as the Slytherins, although tolerant of his presence, did not seem to wish to make any effort to be seen with him. The other Houses, of course, still distrusted him as the Slytherin ferret. That, of course, was how the boy greeted him.

"Hullo, Ferret," Harry Potter said in a falsely cheerful tone. "What happened to your shadows this year? Didn't fire them, did you?"

Draco looked up at the boy. He raised an eyebrow and motioned to the other side of the library, where Crabbe and Goyle flanked the tall, dark Blaise Zabini.

"They have a new idol, one who's _loyal_ to their overlord," he said dryly. "I'd have thought you would have noticed before now, Potter. Or were you not there when I turned my back on the Dark Lord?"

"I was there," Harry said, loosing all pretense of cheerfulness. "It looked like an act, Malfoy."

"Draco," Draco said firmly. "Call me Draco. I'm sick of people calling me Malfoy. It's like they expect me to be just like my father."

"For about six years, you were," Harry informed him.

"Things change," Draco told his former archenemy. "People change. People die."

"I heard about your father," Harry said. "It's for sure?"

"Who knows?" Draco asked, shrugging. "He claims the potion the Dark Lord made him drink for refusing to kill me will drain his life and give it to the Dark Lord." Draco rubbed his forehead. "I don't know what to believe."

"Potion?" Harry asked, eyes alight with interest. "What potion?"

"He called it _spiritus furtum_, theft of life. He said the Dark Lord invented it himself…with his help. He said he knows it requires the blood of the one who is to gain life from it."

"So it's a blood potion," Harry said, leaning forward. "How much can we trust his word?"

"I'd say as far as we can trust the Dark Lord's trust in him," Draco said, considering. "He was under the influence of Veritaserum, but it could still not be true if the Dark Lord didn't tell him the truth."

"The blood running through Voldemort's veins is mine," Harry said softly, so no one nearby could hear them. "He took it to resurrect himself and to steal the protection my mother left me. I've been researching blood potions for Advanced Potions, and it seems to me that any potion using Voldemort's blood would also affect me."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise. "That would make sense," he mused, "but surely the Dark Lord would have thought of that…"

Harry leaned forward. "If you have truly changed, Draco, then I am willing to give you a chance. I know Ron won't like it…for reasons you well know…but if you have changed, you would be an asset to us. Friends?"

"As much as can be, Potter," Draco replied with a crooked smile. The young men clasped hands.

"Oh, one more thing…" Harry said as he rose to leave. "Only Death Eaters call Voldemort the Dark Lord. You might want to try another reference, or certain people will continue to think you a prospective Death Eater, whatever you may claim."

He left, leaving Draco with even more to think about. The Head Boy didn't like this kind of problem. He was glad his old nemesis was open to accept him as an ally. He wondered briefly if Hermione Granger had anything to do with this.

Draco picked up his quill and continued to write.

_Vampire saliva is often harmful if used in any way other than its intent.Ingested through the mouth in a liquid, for example, if it is put into someone's goblet drink, it drains the unfortunate drinker of energy, often leaving him paralyzed. _

_Due to the hazards in obtaining saliva for magical study, there is no known cure. The condition is fatal and unpredictable in that there is no "typical" length of life left to the victim after ingesting the saliva. It is unlikely that the vampire will poison a victim, as that would cause the victim's death, meaning the victim would not continue to produce blood. _

_Poison by vampire saliva is an arcane and rare occurrence, usually practiced only by those wizards who practice the Dark Arts._

Draco dreamt the same dream that night.


	3. Halloween

**Chapter Three: Halloween **

In the Advanced Potions class were exactly four seventh-year students: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Neville Longbottom.

How exactly Longbottom managed to pass his OWLS and overcome his incredible fear of the sallow, hawk-like Professor Snape mystified Draco, but the Gryffindor was determined to succeed, if only to be better able to fight those who had tortured his parents. His forte, anything having to do with plants, managed to help him swing along in potions with a barely passing grade.

Zabini, however, was another story altogether. It was a widely accepted belief that the darkly handsome young man, newly crowned Slytherin's prince after Draco's betrayal of the Dark Lord, would be swiftly initiated into Death Eater ranks upon his graduation. His continued attendance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the extreme lack of evidence of his connections to the Dark Lord factored heavily in reasons he had not been swept away to Azkaban by skittish Ministry officials.

With such a strange array of students and such a tension between the four, the class was bound to go wrong sometimes.

It was Halloween and Professor Snape was not in the room when class was to begin. Unperturbed, the boys began to set up cauldrons and get out ingredients. They were to be refining a simple blood potion they had been brewing up last class.

Predictably, a spat broke out between Zabini and Longbottom. Snape, in a particularly vindictive streak of spite, had assigned the two to partner for this particular potion. Their batch of potion from the last class, which was supposed to be a clear, green-tinged liquid, was a thick murky blue.

"You idiot!" snapped Zabini in a superior tone. "This is your fault."

"No it's not!" Longbottom insisted.

In the weeks they had spent together in the dungeons, Neville had begun to stand up for himself, as Gryffindor had steadily lost points when Harry stood up for him.

"I _told_ you the mandrake roots were supposed to be _exactly_ five millimeters long," Neville said, "but you just chopped them up and threw them in, all different sizes!"

"No, you added too much snakeskin powder, and you didn't pound it down into a fine powder, like the book said!"

"If you'd _read_ the book, you would have known you'd thrown the ingredients in the cauldron in the wrong order!"

"If we'd used my book instead of your _second-hand_ piece of garbage, they would have been written in the right order!"

Neville stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the dark Slytherin, who he would never dare look at that way outside the potions classroom.

"Well," he said, just as Snape entered the room, "you can put _your_ blood in it and see what happens, Zabini. I refuse."

"What's this?" Snape demanded, towering over the feuding boys. "_What_ have you done to that potion?"

"It's Longbottom's fault, sir," Zabini said quickly. "He's no better than a squib, he is."

"Why you—" Neville choked out. He moved to hit the smug boy, but Harry and Draco had finally decided to intervene. They held Neville back.

"Don't do anything stupid, Neville," Harry hissed. "He's just trying to get under your skin."

"And he's doing a good job," Draco commented dryly, holding one of Neville's arms. "He's got the honeyed tongue of a serpent, Longbottom. Don't listen to it."

Snape glared at the boys and they fell silent.

"That will be ten points from Gryffindor," he said, "for attempted attack of a classmate. You two will have to start over again, that's all there is for it. Unless you wish to fail."

He moved off to his desk, where he had stacks of essays to mark.

As he buried himself in boring paperwork, Neville gloomily emptied the potion into a waste basin. He moved back to the cauldron he was sharing with Zabini, where the Slytherin already had the basic potions ingredients simmering.

The two boys glared at each other over the cauldron, as if to say, "What did I do to get stuck with _you_?"

Harry and Draco glanced at their classmates. Harry grinned at Draco.

"I think they hate each other more than we ever did," he commented, setting up some straining cloths for their potion.

"Perhaps," Draco agreed, amusement in his voice. He carefully poured the green-tinged potion through the thin cloths.

He lowered his voice so the others couldn't hear them. "I suspect the Dark Lord will be summoning his servants tonight."

"I thought you weren't calling him that anymore," Harry said. Draco grimaced.

"Old habits die hard. Anyway, all of the Slytherins have been jumpy today. Have you noticed? Nott double-hexed a first-year just for looking at him the wrong way."

"And here I was thinking your pure blood was raging because tonight is your type's sort of dark, demonic celebration."

"Don't be an imbecile, Potter. And quit including me as one of _them_. They don't, so why should you?"

Harry half-shrugged. "Old habits die hard." He stirred the potion counter-clockwise four times then looked up at the pale, blond-haired boy across from him. "So, your blood or mine?"

* * *

Dumbledore had decided that this year, Hogwarts would have a Costume Ball in celebration of Halloween. It was incredibly exciting for everybody, and the previous few weeks had been a flurry of people piecing together costumes.

Hogwarts' Head Boy leaned against a pillar in the Great Hall, his face hidden behind a charmed glamour of green and silver, wearing a large emerald cape and a beautiful sword in a hilt on his hip. He had gone with a less extravagant costume.

A carrot marched up to him, and, placing hands on hips, demanded,

"Well?"

Draco smiled behind his glamour. Ginny Weasley had boldly appeared exactly as the Slytherins accused her family of appearing naturally.

"Well, what?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Don't you have some snide comment to make? Because I would really rather hear it now to my face than later behind my back."

Draco's glamour paled a bit so she could hazily see his grin.

"I think you look spectacular, Ginny," he said, shocking her.

Gesturing over to a corner completely made up of students in green-and-silver costumes, he said, "But if you're looking for insults, you might try Zabini over there. Then again, he might be too shocked by the appearance of a carrot to think up any witty phrases. Either way, it promises to be amusing."

"Hmph!" she said, and flounced off to where her date, dressed as some kind of ferny plant, which Draco suspected to be Neville Longbottom, waited for her.

The Weird Sisters, providing the music for the night, started up with their eerie wailing cacophony, and people gradually floated into the center of the hall and began to dance.

Hermione Granger, dressed in a fashion similar to that of Draco, with the exception of her glamour being red and gold and her cape being a luxuriant red, stood by the Head Boy as they watched the interesting array of creatures swirl about the dance floor.

Their costumes, unfortunately, had been chosen by tradition. It was a long-standing Hogwarts tradition that the Head Boy and Girl wear the colors of their houses to school balls. That usually only entailed the Yule Ball, but this year was different.

"It's a good thing we're both Heads or Ron would have a fit our costumes coordinate," she said, her eyes, beneath the glamour, watching the dancers.

"Jealous, is he?" Draco inquired.

"Could be," Hermione replied.

She inclined her head to watch her two friends; Harry dressed, to Draco's immense distaste, as a lion and Ron dressed in bright lime Quidditch robes that clashed horribly with his hair.

They had managed to accidentally blow up one of the muggle light bulbs that Dumbledore had set around the Hall and illuminated with magic. With great difficulty, they had repaired the glass, but were having an extraordinarily difficult time trying to screw it back into its socket.

"How many Gryffindors does it take to screw in a light bulb?" Draco muttered.

Hermione turned towards him in surprise.

"You know muggle jokes?"

Draco half-shrugged. "A few." The wailing of the Weird Sisters abated and Professor Dumbledore stood on the stage with a microphone.

"And now, for a twist" he was saying "we will be doing an amusing little thing the muggles," here he was interrupted by a few noises of distaste and some booing, "Yes, the muggles. What the muggles call a Sadie Hawkins dance."

As most of the students looked bewildered, he explained, "This is where the witch may ask whichever wizard she chooses to dance. We will have a few of these, then you may relax."

His eyes twinkled with amusement. "You may not refuse, gentlemen. Let loose for this one night." He grew grave. "In these dark times, a little amusement now and then is not to be looked upon lightly."

The hall erupted with excitement and witches quickly moved to ask the wizard they had their eye on before a rival got to him. Hermione turned to Draco.

"Oh, no." he said. "Go ask Potter or Weasley. They'll both be desperate for a partner. I'm quite eligible, you know."

She grinned and moved off to ask Ron, Harry already having been descended upon by a mob of girls, and to screw the muggle light bulb into its socket.

Draco was not descended upon by a mob. The Slytherin girls, throwing a few hesitant looks his way, asked other Slytherin boys. Pansy quickly grabbed Blaise Zabini, who was dragged off to the dance floor reluctantly, looking at the girl with obvious distaste.

Draco grinned almost animalistically at his replacement. He did not grudge the new Slytherin prince that particular aspect of the crown.

To his surprise, the carrot reappeared.

"Care to dance?"

"Why don't you dance with Longbottom?" he asked, then saw Neville happily collapsing into a chair by the wall.

"He can't keep up with me," Ginny said. "Besides, I want to talk with you, Malfoy."

"Draco, please," he said, following her onto the dance floor.

Draco was exhausted. This song seemed to be going on forever and Ginny still hadn't said what she wanted to talk with him about.

"Why couldn't you just attack me in the hallways instead of torturing me?" he demanded, almost gasping for breath.

"Too easy," she replied, flashing him a smile. "Besides, you wouldn't have let me curse you."

"If I'd have known the alternative, I would have," Draco said fervently. "I'm dying here, Ginny. What do you want?"

"I just want to impress upon all four of you that I am a woman now," she said.

"I've been impressed upon," Draco said. "Can I sit down now? Wait a minute…four of us?"

"Don't be a fool, Malfoy," she said and they whirled faster around the dance floor.

"I know it's no coincidence that it's just the four of you that's in the Advanced Potions class. One of you is going to come out on top after the war is over, one way or another. I just want that wizard to know that I'm not a little girl and I don't need my brothers to defend me."

"That's very straightforward and possibly power-hungry of you," Draco managed to gasp. "How can you keep going like this? Did you drink a strength potion or something?"

"Oh sure, I hope Voldemort falls," she said and the music seemed to go faster and faster, "but let's be practical. If he doesn't, my brothers are hardly going to be able to protect me. If he doesn't, then either you or Zabini will be in his inner circle. I know you've denounced him, but for how long?"

She brushed a strand of bright red hair out of her face.

"I want to believe he'll fall, but my father's dead. My brothers are likely to be next. My mum won't ever consider other options. I have to think about these things because nobody else will."

Their dance carried them closer to a wall.

"Neville recognizes I'm a woman. If I shock him a bit, Harry might stop thinking of me as his best friend's little sister. You, Draco Malfoy, son of my father's slayer, remember I'm a pureblood too." She pushed him down into a seat by the wall, and then moved gracefully off, her orange-red robes falling gracefully about her frame.

"Zabini's next," she said to him, over her shoulder.

He nodded and managed to gasp, "Good luck getting him away from Pansy."

* * *

All in all, it was a strange night for Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts' Head Boy. He had been surprised and slightly put-off by Ginny Weasley's bluntness.

One thing he had been right about. He had been right when he'd told Harry Potter that the Death Eaters would be meeting that night.

It had been an impromptu attack, organized by Voldemort at the last possible minute, ensuring that no spies carried word to Dumbledore.

Fourteen Muggles died that night. The Ministry of Magic managed to cover with a tried-but-true story—a gas line explosion.

With a bit of mind-wipes here and there, they managed to erase from the Muggles' minds the memory of the green smoke hanging in the sky, but the fact remained that Dr. and Mrs. Granger, a couple of muggle dentists and parents of Hermione Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts and best friend to Harry Potter, nemesis of Voldemort, were dead.

Nothing could erase that horrible truth.


	4. Dark Arts Books

**Chapter Four: Dark Arts Books **

Hermione returned to Hogwarts a week later, clothes disheveled, eyes lined with red and surrounded by Harry, Ron, and Order of the Phoenix members. She retired to her rooms and asked to be alone. The Order of the Phoenix members cast several protective charms around the Head Girl's rooms and departed. Harry and Ron entered the chambers next to Hermione's.

Draco was sitting at his desk, reading the Daily Prophet. With a strangled cry of rage, he crushed it and threw it into the fireplace.

"Worse than usual?" Harry asked dryly. Draco started. He hadn't heard them enter.

"Bloody hell, Potter, don't scare a person like that."

"Do you think you can keep the angry screams down?" Ron asked. It was the first time he'd spoken to Draco in ages. "Hermione's right next door and she's kind of upset right now."

"Right, right," Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry. Did you two want something?"

"Yeah," Harry said, flopping down on the couch next to the fireplace. Ron sat stiffly next to him. "Hermione's closing herself up over this. Won't talk, won't get angry, just cries."

"And Harry, the bloody idiot, blames himself," Ron added.

"Sounds like something he'd do," Draco agreed. "So it's your fault the Dark Lord killed Hermione's parents, is it? Well, you're probably right. He probably did it to hurt you, Potter. There's no way it couldn't have just been the twisted product of a twisted mind. Yes, it was definitely your fault. Just as though you said the words yourself."

The callousness of his words did not snap Harry out of his self-blame, as Draco had intended. Also, Ron was looking at him with intense hatred once again.

"Look here, Potter," Draco said finally. "You can't blame yourself for the actions of the Dark Lord. That's what he wants you to do."

"Exactly," Ron said, latching on to Draco's last words. "You don't want to be doing what Voldemort wants you to do."

"I guess not," Harry said. "But what about Hermione? She probably blames me, and no matter who blames who, it all boils down to the fact that this is killing Hermione."

"And you think I can do something about it?"

"You're pretty much the last option," Ron said reluctantly.

"Fine. I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Draco knocked softly on Hermione's door and slipped in, holding a pile of Dark Arts books and a thick roll of parchment. He found Hermione lying on her couch, her face streaked with tears. He set the books on the table and sat beside her.

"Your friends are worried about you," he said.

"I don't care," she said, her words muffled by the pillow.

"I'm worried about you."

"I don't care," she said again.

"Do you care about anything?" he demanded.

"No. Go away."

"I won't," he said. "Hermione, your parents are dead. Who killed them?"

There was a long silence.

"Who killed them, Hermione?"

Once again, she didn't answer.

"It wasn't Harry Potter or Ron Weasley. It wasn't Professor Dumbledore or any of the Order of the Phoenix. It wasn't a muggle. So who was it?"

Once again, a long silence.

"I'll tell you who it was, Hermione. It was a group of Death Eaters—wizards and witches who follow an incredibly powerful Dark Lord and who believe that purebloods are superior to both half-bloods and muggles. Don't you want them to pay for killing your parents?"

"Yes," she said, very softly. "I want them to go down."

"Do you see these books, Hermione? These books are my father's most private collection of Dark Arts books. There are dark, dangerous, evil things in the covers of these books. I have been studying them because I want to know what the Death Eaters know. I want to take them down and I want to make Voldemort pay for hurting my mother."

Hermione say up on the couch and stared at the books in awe.

"Would you like to join me?" Draco asked her. "Despite what everyone hears all the time about saving the world and making the wizarding world safe from the evils of Voldemort, nobody cares until it touches them personally. Everybody who is fighting the Dark Lord is driven by revenge. Potter, the Weasleys, me, and now you, Hermione. Being driven by revenge is a hard way to live, but at least it's living."

* * *

Hermione simply plowed through Lucius Malfoy's Dark Arts books. Despite her anger at loosing her parents and the hardness that was now in her eyes, she was still innocent enough to be shocked by some of the torture curses.

"Draco, did you read about these burn curses?" she asked, her voice lined with horror. "And just imagine where they would use them!"

"Yes," Draco agreed, looking up from a Dark Arts book on how to maximize physical pain. "I'm surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't gotten wind of some of these yet and spread yet more terror throughout the wizarding world."

"Maybe they chose not to print it," Hermione said absently, looking at a spell description in shock.

"No, I think they don't know of it yet," Draco said. "You obviously haven't been reading the Prophet lately or you'd have seen that horrid Rita Skeeter's exposé on my father, including a horribly inaccurate description of how he had betrayed the Dark Lord and is really very noble and pure."

"She didn't!" Hermione exclaimed, her book forgotten as she stared at Draco. "That….argh! I told her to keep her pen to herself!" Draco stared at her in bewilderment.

"She's an unregistered animagus," Hermione explained. "I caught her red-handed after the Tri-Wizard tournament and told her that if she kept her pen to herself, I wouldn't tell anybody her little secret." When he still looked slightly confused, she added, "We might have hexed you right after that."

"Oh," Draco said, turning red. "Yes, I remember that. Actually, I remember almost every run-in with you three."

"Well, this certainly doesn't constitute keeping her pen to herself," Hermione fumed. "I don't subscribe to the Daily Prophet any more. Could I see your copy with that story in it?"

"I erm…" Draco said, slightly embarrassed. "I kind of got pretty mad and threw it in the fire."

"He does have emotions!" Hermione exclaimed. "I was beginning to wonder. No matter. If she writes anything like that again, let me know and I'll send her a little reminder."

Harry and Ron were so relieved that Hermione had somewhat pulled out of her depression that they didn't bother to ask Draco what he'd done. Somehow, he didn't think they would be too pleased about his little speech about being driven by revenge.

* * *

At dinner one night, Ginny broke long-standing tradition by sitting next to Draco at the Slytherin table.

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco hissed at her as she slid into the seat beside him.

"I'm eating dinner with the Head Boy, of course," she replied sweetly. She picked up the goblet in front of her, inspected it, and then took a sip. A broad smile spread across her face. "I _told _them you weren't drinking blood."

A few of the Slytherins started to make outraged comments, but she cut them off smoothly.

"It was a joke, okay?" she said, smiling easily. "Can't you people take a joke?"

The table was silent for a minute, and for a while the only sound was the friendly chatter from the other tables. Finally, Blaise Zabini spoke up.

"You're not welcome here,'" he snapped.

"Why?" she inquired pleasantly.

"Mudblood," a first-year said, somewhere down at the other end of the table.

"Nope!" Ginny called back at him. "Probably purer than you."

"Muggle-lover," somebody else muttered.

"Says who?" she demanded.

"Spawn of a muggle-lover," another said. Ginny shrugged.

"Can't deny that," she said, "but he's dead. Ask your parents—they were probably there."

After a long and rather uncomfortable silence, she flapped a hand at them impatiently.

"Don't tell me you people only talk about stuff a Gryffindor shouldn't hear. There's no way I believe you sit here each meal and plan the next Death Eater attack. The Dark Lord wouldn't trust the likes of you with that."

A few people laughed and the chatter gradually started up again.

"So," Draco said, cutting up a steak, "What brings you over here to disrupt the normal day of the Slytherin House? Trying to shake things up?"

"Yes, but I also wanted to ask you if you would tutor me in Potions."

"Why don't you ask Hermione?"

"Because she dropped potions, duh."

"Then ask Potter. Or ask Longbottom. He's not as bad as his reputation makes him out to be."

"Well, my first choice would obviously be the best—Blaise Zabini," she said, glancing down the length of the table to where the Slytherin Prince, surrounded by his cronies, was staring at her darkly. "Neville tells me he's been screwing up their potions to make Neville look bad, but Zabini's had top marks in Potions for the past few years. Unfortunately, I would have to worry about him poisoning me or generally being a Death Eater-in-training and a Slytherin prat and I would never manage to actually improve if I'm always watching my back."

"I heard that, Weasley," Zabini called.

"I don't hear you denying it," she retorted before turning her attention back to Draco. "So it boils down to you, the second-best."

"I am _not_ second-best to Zabini!" Draco snapped. "Fine, I'll do it, but only because I definitely do not want you, Zabini, and a potion in the same room at the same time."

"Thank you, Draco," she said sweetly. "Hermione said you'd agree."

* * *

"Hermione," Draco said that night, as the two studied Dark Arts books in Hermione's rooms, "why do I feel as though I've been manipulated by two girls?"

"Women," she corrected him, only half paying attention to what he was saying.

"What?"

Hermione sighed and put down her book.

"Look, Draco. I want you to do this for Ginny. When Mr. Weasley was killed, all his children reacted to it in different ways.

Charlie threw himself into his dragon-training like a madman. Bill buried himself in the Gringott's vaults, counting money obsessively."

Fred and George have barely been sleeping, cranking out products for their joke shop like mad. Ron's been depressed and angry, mostly at you.

Ginny, the only daughter, has felt her security shaken and doesn't think she can depend on anybody. She needs some sense of security.

She can't get it from her brothers and Harry's disappointed her romantically for years. Neville's sweet, but clueless.

Her choices have narrowed down to you and Blaise Zabini. I think it would be a very good thing is she didn't end up going to Blaise Zabini for security, don't you?"

"When you put it like that…" Draco said. "I should have known. She said something along those lines at the Halloween Masked Ball."

"Let me just say that it's good that she came to me to ask who should tutor her in potions. I tried to steer her interest towards you. In other words, away from Zabini. Besides," she said, smiling, "she really does need help in potions and it probably would not be good for her marks if Zabini tutored her."

"That's the grade-monger Hogwarts knows and loves."


	5. Visions and Two O'Clock Meetings

**Chapter Five: Visions and 2 O'Clock Meetings**

It was just the Inner Circle this time. Severus Snape was one of the last to arrive, but with a good excuse—Dumbledore had been talking with him and had revealed (quite intentionally, but that was not for the Dark Lord to know) a bit of inside information that would save Snape from torture for the next week. Harry Potter watched through the crimson eyes of the Dark Lord, who was well aware of his presence. Draco Malfoy watched also, unnoticed by all, through the eyes of Harry Potter.

"Our mutual enemy, the golden-boy-who-lived, is our guest tonight, my friends," the Dark Lord hissed as the final Death Eater took his place. There was a great mirror—a full-body mirror with a frame of ruby-eyed silver serpents—in the middle of the circle, standing before Voldemort.

The Dark Lord steeped up before the mirror and looked into the eyes of his reflection.

"Do you see me, Harry? Do you see how strong I have become since last we met?"

Harry's anger swept through the mind of his nemesis, who chuckled. The man in the mirror was a healthy man, tall, lean, and strong. His eyes burned with power, though his skin was pale as death.

"You have been neglecting your lessons, Harry," he said softly. "Your occulmency is weaker than ever. Now you will be punished for your neglect."

The Inner Circle shifted anxiously, uncertain of their master's mind, knowing of the horrible potion he had at his disposal.

"Severus," he nearly whispered. The dark-haired man stepped forward and kneeled respectfully to the master he was, even at the very moment, betraying.

"My lord?"

"The potion, Severus." He opened a spidery hand and the potions-master placed a small vial in it. The Dark Lord smiled. "Bring in the traitor."

A bound and wide-eyed Karkaroff was dragged in and thrown before the mirror at the Dark Lord's feet. He looked desperately from the vial to the Dark Lord to Snape, who tightened his lips and said nothing.

"You betrayed me, Karkaroff," Voldemort said, looking pitilessly at the wretched heap at his feet. "And I don't suffer traitors, do I, Severus?"

"No, my lord," Severus replied, looking grim.

Voldemort flicked his wand, releasing Karkaroff from his bonds and offered him the potion. "Drink this, traitor," he hissed poisonously. Karkaroff opened his mouth as though to protest—or, more likely, to beg for mercy or a quick death—but shut it at the venomous glance the Dark Lord gave him. He looked around the circle at the Death Eaters who were the witnesses of his execution, and he found no kind faces.

The Dark Lord grew impatient. "Severus," he snapped. "Administer the potion."

Severus Snape stepped forward, swiftly uncorked the vial and poured the contents down the throat of his fellow traitor. Satisfied, the Dark Lord looked straight into the eyes of his reflection, straight into the eyes of Harry, who was trapped in his mind until Voldemort chose to release him, and, quite unknowingly, into the hidden eyes of Draco Malfoy, who had taken a Shared-Dreams Blood Potion that he and Harry had brewed in Potions.

"I am quite powerful, Harry," Voldemort said. "I know that you and your pitiful cause has taken in the traitor Draco Malfoy. See for yourself, my nemesis, what befalls those who betray me."

So saying, he intoned a string of latin words and Karkaroff jerked in a violent spasm for what seemed like minutes, then finally lay still, aged with white hair. Voldemort seemed to have grown younger, heartier and more healthy. Harry's revulsion and shock crashed through the Dark Lord's mind in waves.

"So, Harry, are you friends with young Malfoy? Will you tell him what awaits him and let him return to me and be forgiven, after a lesson in obedience? Or will you keep this a secret and let him die as his father dies, wasting away at my whim, just to keep him securely on your side? What will it be, Harry?"

Blissful darkness.

Light.

Red hair and freckles.

A very worried Ron looked down at Harry. He was shining a light in his eyes.

"You screamed, mate. Have a dream?"

Harry rubbed his head, green eyes confused, trying to remember.

"Maybe…I can't recall."

* * *

Hermione fell wearily out of bed. Somebody was rapping on her door. She opened it. Draco Malfoy stepped in, his gray eyes awake with a sharpness that only comes from fear.

"He's after me, Hermione. Not just to kill me—I mean, we knew that—but He wants my life. I have to talk to Potter. Quick, Hermione, tell me the password to the Gryffindor dorms."

Hermione was still half-asleep and very confused, as Draco hadn't made much sense. She rubbed her eyes, trying to rub the sleep away, but she had stayed up very late studying History of Magic and could not seem to push sleep away.

"Quick, Hermione," Draco insisted. "The password."

She knew that there was some reason not to tell him, but she just couldn't seem to recall it, and he did seem so sure and certain.

"Buckbeak," she said.

"What? That bloody beast that nearly killed m—oh, never mind. Thanks, Hermione!" he said and dashed off to Gryffindor Tower.

Now why was it she wasn't supposed to tell him the password to Gryffindor Tower? Something to do with houses…oh, well it surely wasn't important. At least he was gone and she could go back to sleep.

* * *

"Buckbeak," Draco practically barked at the Fat Lady. Trust the Gryffindors to have such an outlandish portrait guarding their dorm.

"You're not one of mine, dearie," she said.

"But I know the password," Draco retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"All the same, dearie," she began, but Draco interrupted.

"Believe me, madam, I would not willing be anywhere this many Gryffindors if it were not an emergency."

"Very well, dearie," she said, swinging open.

Draco climbed through the portrait hole and walked smack into Ginny Weasely.

"What are you doing?" they demanded at the same time. They glared at each other, the patented Malfoy glare against the Molly Weasely don't-you-dare-blow-up-firecrackers-in-the-house stare of doom.

"Ladies first," Draco said, unrelenting.

"Well, if you must know, I was sneaking off to visit Blaise Zabini," she said flatly. "And if you tell Harry or any of my brothers, I'll hex you into next week."

"You were doing _what_!" Draco demanded. "That boy is dangerous! He is definitely not the boy you want to arrange secret meetings with at two o'clock in the morning!"

"What is it to you?" Ginny demanded, hands on hips. "And what are you doing sneaking into the Gryffindor Common Room at two o'clock in the morning? You aren't supposed to be here at all."

"It's an emergency," Draco said curtly. "I have to talk to Potter. You know, about…"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, just say the damn name," Ginny snapped. "Voldemort!"

"Shh! Not so loudly!" Draco said.

"What, are you afraid of him now, too?" Ginny asked sarcastically. "At least Blaise can refer to the Dark Lord without expecting the man to waltz out of the shadows."

"The Dark Lord doesn't waltz," Draco said. "And why do you know so much about Zabini?"

"Because I've been meeting with him," Ginny said, matter-of-factly. "He likes me."

"He what!" Draco exclaimed. "Ginny, that boy is dangerous! He's a Death Eater and—"

"Oh, calm down," she said irritably, swinging her auburn hair over her shoulder. "He's not such a bad guy. He's smart and witty and very devoted."

"Yeah, to kissing the Dark Lord's robes."

"At least he isn't driven by revenge," she retorted sharply. "He believes in pureblood superiority, and, in case you haven't noticed, _I'm a pureblood_. Despite my family's obvious affiliations, I am quite desirable in supremist circles."

"You mean the Death Eaters want you," Draco said flatly. He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, Ginny, I believe that you believe that Zabini likes you, but he's a user—he uses people and throws them aside when they can serve no further purpose. They all are like that. Look at my father—all those years of service and devotion and what does he get? A slow, torturous, painful death because I—not him, but me—_I_ chose a different life."

Ginny moved closer to him, looking up into his eyes, and whispered, "I will not die in this war, Draco Malfoy. I will survive and marry a survivor and have children and they will have red hair and be named Bill and Percy and Charlie and Fred and George and Ron and Harry and Neville and Molly and Arthur because everyone I ever loved will be dead. The youngest will be a boy and his name will be Draco. Will he be named for a dead loved one, or for his father, Draco? Will he be named for his father, or will his father kill me for naming him after a blood traitor?"

She brushed past him and climbed out of the portrait hole, leaving Draco alone in the empty Common Room.

"I'm not a traitor."

* * *

"You're late."

"Mmm," Ginny murmured into Blaise's shoulder as he embraced her. "Ran into Draco."

Blaise broke the embrace and held her at arm's length, studying her carefully.

"He didn't give you any problems, did he?"

"Just the typical grief. 'You shouldn't be sneaking out of your Common Room at this time of the morning.' 'You shouldn't be having secret night meetings with Death Eaters.' You know."

"How does he know what you were doing?"

"I told him, of course," Ginny said. "What's he going to do, give me a detention for seeing a Slytherin? That'd look real good."

"He probably thinks I'm going to curse you or something."

"I wouldn't put it past you," Ginny murmured wearily, leaning back against Blaise by the hearth. She liked Blaise's room. The dungeons were so extensive that all of the Slytherin seventh-years got their own room. It was not nearly as spacious in Gryffindor Tower.

Blaise smiled—a small smile that twisted the corners of his mouth in an impish sort of way. He ran his fingers through Ginny's long hair.

"Why don't you tell me what the Order of the Phoenix is up to, Gin?"

She closed her eyes and smiled.

"Why don't you tell me what Voldemort is up to, Blaise?"

"So it's a stand-off again, is it, my love?"

"Don't call me that. You know you don't mean it."

She grabbed his hand and held it still.

"But I do mean it, Gin," he said softly.

"As much as I would like to believe that I could seduce you in two months, I know I am no veela. Tell whomever you're reporting to that I'm neither one nor the other. Press it and you'll push me right into the arms of Harry Potter."

Blaise winced.

"Gin, the rule, the rule," he complained. "No saying that name in the Slytherin sanctuary."

"Sorry, Blaise."

After a while, she spoke again. "Don't tell Voldemort that. I don't want you to get in trouble. It's just that sometimes I wish we were all normal teenagers living normal wizarding lives without worrying about who's going to kill who."

"I know," the Slytherin Prince said quietly. And he did know. But he wanted the Wizarding World to change, and he knew it wouldn't happen without a war.

"If you have to tell him something," Ginny said, "you have my word I'm not helping the Order of the Phoenix. I'm not working against Him. I just haven't decided to work _for_ Him yet."

There was a long, comfortable silence.

"So what did you think of the Ravenclaw-Slytherin game last week?" Blaise asked.

Ginny smiled. "It was brilliant, but we'll put a stop to your winning streak next match."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you think so, do you?"

* * *

Draco burst into the Gryffindor seventh-years dorms only to be met by the eyes of Harry, Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean. His initial relief at picking the right dorm instantly evaporated at the half-hostile stares of the boys.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron demanded.

"I, er, had to see Potter," he said, lamely, making sure his back was to the door in case they decided to hex him, which he wouldn't put past them.

"What did you do to Harry, scum?" Ron asked in a dangerously soft voice quite unlike the old Ron whose anger was hot.

"What did _I _do?" Draco exclaimed. "More like, what did Voldemort do!"

"You know what happened?" Harry asked, turning his eyes on the Head Boy.

"Well, of course I do," Draco said irritably. "I say, Potter, you should've warned me that you dream of the Dark Lord."

"He has for years," said Ron darkly. The other boys watched with interest. "Why would you know what Harry dreams of?"

"Well, we had to test that potion, didn't we?" Draco demanded. "And we used Potter's blood, if I remember correctly, so of course I shared _his _dream. You know what I mean, Longbottom."

"Yes, the Shared Dreams Potion," Neville said. "Of course, Zabini and I haven't progressed far enough to test it. I certainly don't want him to have a potion with my blood in it, but I don't want his dreams, either. So it worked?"

"Well, as far as I can tell," Draco said. "It wasn't just a dream, was it, Potter?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I can't remember any of it."

"Oh, Merlin!" Draco exclaimed. "We must've done something wrong with the potion."

"Screw the potion, what happened in the dream?" Ron demanded. Draco looked at Harry, to see if he wanted the other boys to know. Harry nodded slightly.

"Well, it wasn't really about you, Potter," Draco said. "It was about me."

"What?" Neville asked.

"He killed Karkaroff," Draco said softly, his eyes clouding at the horror of the memory. "Do you feel stronger, Potter?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I do feel like my magic's stronger or something," he replied. "Like it's crackling under my fingertips."

Draco nodded. "The Dark Lord probably doesn't know that you're getting stronger, too. At least, I hope not."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Dean finally asked in exasperation. Draco took a step forwards.

"I'm talking about the Dark Lord getting stronger, Finnegan. I'm talking about Him having a potion to steal the life from disobedient servants. I'm talking about Him turning the years of his life backwards and looking more and more like the man he was before the boy-who-lived lived but with more wisdom and darker knowledge. I'm talking about a host of witches and wizards here at Hogwarts who would do his bidding—and not all of them are Slytherins."

Harry sighed. "I was afraid it was something like that. Why didn't I remember it, though?"

"He sure wanted you to remember it," Draco responded. "He told you that either you could warn me of what happens to—" Draco's mouth twisted around the word, "—traitors—and risk me going back to Him, or you could not tell me and let me die as—" his voice caught in his throat, "my father is dying and as Karkaroff did die."

"I would have told you," Harry said. "You have the right to know."

"I would rather you not have," Draco said. "My life's complicated enough as it is." He turned and walked out the door, but Harry followed him.

"You think something was wrong with the potion, then?" Harry asked. Draco shrugged.

"We did everything right," he said flatly. "Perhaps it was just meant for you to see it and not be able to show it to others, but since I already saw it, only one of us could remember."

There was a silence as the two boys thought about their lives and their deaths.

"Potter," Draco said suddenly. "Whose side is Professor Snape on?"

"At the moment?" Harry asked. "Who knows? All I know for sure is that he's betraying somebody and it'd better not be us."

"I suspect the Dark Lord is thinking the same exact thing," Draco said.

"Where're you going for the hols?" Harry asked. "Not home, I hope."

"No, I'm staying at Hogwarts," Draco said. "Mother will be safer if I'm not there to draw attention to her."

"We're going," Harry said. He didn't say where, Draco noticed, just that they were going. "Everybody leaves in the morning, so we will see you after the hols. Don't do anything stupid. I hear Zabini is staying, as well."

"Don't worry, Potter, I'm not going to defect to anyone who serves the man who raised his wand to my mother."

"I was more worried about you getting killed," Harry said.

"Oh. Well, I'm not going to do that, either."


	6. Christmas at Hogwarts

**Chapter Six: Christmas**

All of the students leaving for the holidays were gone by nightfall and the few left in the castle scattered. Draco, well aware that many of the students who'd stayed were Slytherins, avoided the Slytherin haunts, but, as he turned a corner to find himself face-to-face with Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe, he realized that perhaps avoiding _them_ didn't mean they wouldn't seek him out.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here boys," Blaise said with an almost feral grin. "An interesting spineless, yellow-bellied specimen known as the 'traitor'."

"Heh heh," Vincent laughed dully. Gregory just looked confused. Draco sighed.

"If only I had proof, Zabini," he threatened. "You'd be thrown into Azkaban before you could say 'Master'."

"I'd watch my back if I were you, traitor," Blaise hissed, grabbing Draco's collar and hauling him off the ground. "Or my goblet."

"Heh heh," Vincent laughed again. Gregory tugged hesitantly at the back of Blaise's robes.

"Erm…why is Draco a traitor?"

Blaise glared at him. "We've been over this before, idiot. He betrayed the Dark Lord and helped Potter and his friends escape. Don't touch my robes."

"But…" Gregory almost wilted under Blaise's dark gaze, but pointed out, "Draco hadn't even sworn his first oaths like you had."

"Gregory," Blaise sighed, "I see we are going to have to talk again. Come on, Vincent. We'll see our old friend Draco again." He walked off, Vincent close behind him. Gregory paused a moment, as though he didn't know what to do.

"Thanks, Greg," Draco said, surprised that his former friend had stuck up for him.

"Don't get any ideas," the boy snapped. "Just because I don't think you're a traitor doesn't make you any less of a mudblood-lover and a complete disappointment."

"Greg, I—"

"That's Goyle to you. You're a disgrace to Slytherin."

He hurried after Blaise and Vincent, leaving Draco standing outside the Head Boy's room, wondering.

* * *

Christmas was a quiet affair at Hogwarts this year. Draco slept late. When he awoke, he remembered that nobody he remotely liked was in the castle, so he stayed in bed for another hour. He finally got up close to noon, stumbled through his shower, performed a quick dry/straighten charm on his hair, and walked back through his bedroom, where he was completely shocked to find a small pile of gift-wrapped boxes at the end of his bed.

There was an envelope on top of a very small box. The address was his mother's handwriting. Draco perched on the edge of his bed and carefully opened the letter.

_My Dragon,_

_I know why you aren't coming home for Christmas, though you didn't say it in so many words. I appreciate your concern. I am in a safe place, but I cannot say where for fear of this owl being intercepted._

_Your father is dead. The Dark Lord's plans are thwarted. The Daily Prophet will have wind of it soon, and I will be accused of his murder. I neither confirm nor deny this. I only say that now his torture is over, and may he have what peace he can find, poor soul. He was a good man, my son. I know you think him a monster, but the two of you just had different ideals. He was like the tree that breaks in the wind, you are like the tree that bends in the storm—the one that can change, the one that survives._

_I am sending to you the seal ring with the Malfoy crest. It is your birthright and perhaps the only of your proper inheritance you will ever receive. You are the Patriarch of the Malfoy family. It is not much, but it is who you are._

_I'm sorry you haven't anyone to help you in your time of trials. Be strong, my dragon. You are a Malfoy and a Black and a Slytherin and above all, you are my son Draco, and I believe in you. _

_I love you._

_Forgive me._

_Mother_

Forgive her? Draco wondered. For killing Father? I suppose she did kill him—probably to put him out of his misery.

He unwrapped the small box that accompanied the letter and opened it. The large seal ring that he'd seen on his father's hand—and his grandfather's hand before he'd died—lie nestled in tissue paper. His fingers drew close to it, then he paused. It was entirely likely his father had put curses or jinxes on it. He set it aside to have a curse-breaker look at it later and turned his attention to the other presents.

The first was from Hermione. A card accompanied it.

_Draco,_

_Merry Christmas! I wasn't sure what to get you, so I settled for a few books that I've always found most useful. Enjoy!_

_Hermione._

There was a copy of _One Hundred Basic Curses and Their Counters, Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, _and _Hogwarts, A History._ Draco smiled, remembering the many times Hermione had snapped at him, exasperated, "You really ought to read _Hogwarts, A History_."

The next box was slightly crushed, like someone had sat on it. A short, scrawled note accompanied it.

_My mum made you a Weasley sweater. If you make fun of it, I'll curse you three ways from last week. I got the chocolates from my brothers' shop. _

Sure enough, the box contained a knit sweater in Slytherin green and silver. Draco laid the sweater on the bed and set the chocolates on the nightstand, carefully not putting any in his mouth. He'd heard about Weasley's Wizardly Wheezes and thought it would greatly cheer him up to slip them into the Slytherin Common Room and see what happened.

The next was from Harry. It was just an envelope—no box. When he opened it, a gold coin fell out. Draco picked up the coin and held it in his hand, flipping it over his knuckles as he read the letter.

_I suppose you know about the D.A. in fifth year. After we disbanded, we didn't reform last year, but we decided to get back together after the hols. You're in by unanimous agreement. The coin grows warm when I set a date for the next meeting, and the numbers on the side tell you the date and time. I set the meetings. We'll be in the Room of Requirement since it's so handy for practices. Merry Christmas._

_Harry Potter_

Draco looked curiously at the gold coin. It looked like a regular wizarding coin. Someone had done some very sophisticated magic. He shrugged, pocketed it, and picked up the final box.

There didn't seem to be a note, but he found it when he opened the box. Inside the box was a hip flask and a folded piece of parchment.

_Don't get poisoned. —Ginny_

"Hm," Draco said aloud. "Well, Merry Christmas to you too, Ginny."

He tucked the flask in an inside pocket in his robes and finally went down to the kitchens to see about getting some breakfast.

* * *

Two days later, Draco decided to approach Professor Snape.

"I need a curse-breaker."

Snape leaned back at his desk, his pale fingers interlaced on his chest. "And what reason do you have to trust that I wouldn't send you to a fraud?"

Draco smiled. "I'm not going to die from a cursed signet ring, Professor. You and I both know that."

"What strand of reasoning led you to this conclusion, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Severus, won't you please call me Draco again?"

"You made that choice for me, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied smoothly. "Now, if you please, explain why you won't die from a cursed signet ring."

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'll be honest with you, sir, I don't know what side you're on." He leaned forward and looked his Head of House in the eyes. "But I know that whatever side you're on, you have a vested interest in my continued existence, at least for the present. If you are against the Dark Lord, you will want me, the one who foiled his plans last year, to live. If you are a supporter of the Dark Lord—" Draco paused.

"If I am a supporter of the Dark Lord, then what?" Snape inquired.

"Then you might slip a certain potion into my drink or you might deliver me to the Dark Lord so that he may administer the potion personally, but you would not arrange for me to die from a cursed signet ring. In this aspect, you are the only one I can trust."

Snape laughed shortly. "We are both of us in peculiar situations, Mr. Malfoy." He summoned a House Elf, which brought tea. "Sugar?"

"You know I'm not going to drink that, Professor."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You saw the House Elf bring it."

"And I know that you are a professional, sir. A professional what, I am not sure, but a professional nonetheless."

The greasy-haired professor smiled. "Sometimes you truly are your father's son."

"I'm nothing like him!"

"You are," Snape relied calmly, sipping his tea. "I will give you the name of a good curse-breaker. You can send her your signet ring. She does good work and charges a fair price. In exchange for this assistance, however, I want you to answer a few questions for me."

Draco frowned slightly. "I suppose that depends on what they are, Professor."

"Why did you approach me instead of running to the Headmaster?"

"I knew that I could trust you in this regard."

"But you couldn't trust Professor Dumbledore?"

"I wouldn't so much say that I couldn't trust him to find me a good curse-breaker," Draco said. "I just feel as though I understand your motives better—whichever master it is that you're truly serving. I can predict what you're going to do, to some extent. I can even be relatively sure what actions the Dark Lord will take because I understand his motives. But the Headmaster…I have a difficult time understanding such altruism."

"Yet you yourself displayed altruism last year when you foiled the Dark Lord's plans."

"No," Draco replied thoughtfully. "My motives weren't unselfish. They were entirely selfish. I didn't want the blood of my classmates on my hands, I didn't want to be some little dark minion, and I didn't want to be like my father. And all those people I rescued, they have selfish reasons for wanting the Dark Lord gone. He killed Harry's parents, he had the Weasley's father killed, his Death Eaters killed Hermione's parents and tortured Neville's parents into insanity. But Dumbledore I don't understand."

"I see," Snape said. "And what—"

"I think that's enough, sir," Draco cut him off. "I am sure you have already discerned more than I told you."

"Fair enough," Snape replied. "Here is the name of the curse-breaker." He handed Draco a slip of parchment. "Just send her your ring."

"Thank you, sir," Draco said, standing and making his way to the door.

"Oh, and Draco?"

Draco half-turned. "Yes?"

"Do try not to get yourself killed."

* * *

Less than a hour after the Hogwarts Express returned to Hogwarts, Draco felt his pocket grow warm. Puzzled, he reached in and pulled out the Galleon Harry had given him for Christmas. He had forgotten about it. The numbers on the side told him that the meeting was set for that very night at 7, almost right after dinner.

Draco smiled, placed the warm coin back in his pocket, and knocked on Hermione's door.


End file.
